Really It's More Like A Catapult
by Feste the Fool
Summary: My response to BriefShiningMoment's Magic-Is-NOT-Like-A-Sword challenge. And I took it a step farther: Merlin has next to nothing to do with the analogy. Magic has been freed and Camelot has a new court sorcerer! Now all that remains is to tell the knights...


**If you're wondering why on EARTH this reponse appeared so quickly...I started this puppy this weekend, but hadn't finished it yet. I was using the idea in a Secrets story, but then read BriefShiningMoment's challenge and thought it fit better this way. So, enjoy some shameless comedy, thank BriefShiningMoment for the oneshot, and I DARE YOU to write one, too!**

**Also Disclaimer: Yeah, not mine. These things are stupid, wouldn't you agree?  
**

* * *

It had been a week since Arthur had repealed the ban on magic, and he had yet to reveal anything about his new Court Sorcerer other than the fact that he HAD one. Where he'd found one _that quickly _in _Camelot _of all places, no one knew, and very few were sure they _wanted _to know. It had been two days since someone in council had leaked the general public a name: _Emrys. _

Gwaine, irritated that he hadn't been informed about this mystery sorcerer, and that he hadn't heard from Merlin or Arthur in that same week, finally got drunk enough to break down Arthur's door and drag the servant back into the armory where the knights were cleaning their own armor for once, and weren't happy about it. Arthur followed at a jog, half-yelling at Gwaine to release the poor man and half-laughing his head off at the sight of the knight staggering down the stairs with a very alarmed Merlin's wrist stuck fast in his big hand. When the three of them walked, stumbled, and fell into the armory (in no particular order), Elyan, Leon, Tristan, and Percival cheered.

"It's about time you got down here!" Tristan said, tossing down his whetstone and pointing the sword at the king's nose. "I've been looking for information about this Emrys person for _two days _without any results, and I'm getting _angry." _

"Uh…" Arthur said eloquently, startled by the sight of his most loyal knights looking so unhappy at him.

"You have been neglecting us, sire," Leon added, glaring a bit at the new man before respectfully bowing his head. "We always thought we would be the _first _to know if something like this happened."

Gwaine snorted with laughter—right into Merlin's face. The man went pale and began to sway, and perhaps would have fallen had the knight not _still _had a firm grip on his arm; Merlin always was a lightweight. "Don'mind 'im, 'Rthur," the drunkard slurred with another laugh. "He's sill store about th'whole magic…thing."

"He hasn't exactly been perfectly fine himself," Elyan said, standing up and attempting to pry Gwaine and Merlin apart. "This is actually the _second _day this week he's been…like that."

"Third," Percival corrected with a grunt. "Although maybe that other time doesn't count…"

"Leon'sssssssssssorried 'bout conniptions."

Percival rolled his eyes. "Corruption, Gwaine. Corruption." Then he walked over to the drunk and the servant, pulled Gwaine away while Elyan held onto Merlin, and pushed the knight onto the bench.

Merlin looked at his bruising wrist, then at Arthur in outrage. "Arthur—"

The king, however, had that mischievous look in his eyes and a smirk to rival his half sister's on his lips. "Don't worry, Leon. After much study, I have come to the conclusion that not all magic is evil."

Leon frowned. "How can you be certain of that? And can this Emrys man be trusted?"

The servant winced. "Leon—"

"Oh, yes, Leon, Emrys is very trustworthy. And very loyal. He's the king of the druids, you know, and supposed to be the greatest warlock who ever lived." Arthur tapped his chin. "He can be something of an _idiot,_ though…"

"Arthur!" Merlin cried, glaring at his friend.

"Magic, you see," Arthur went on, his smirk growing with Merlin's blush. "Is like—"

"—A sword?" Tristan asked, nodding to the blade in his hand.

The servant swung around. "Tristan—"

"The Morteus flower?" suggested Leon.

"Leon—"

Percival frowned. "Stone?"

"Percival—"

"A hammer, or anvil," Elyan asked, his eyes far away.

"Elyan—"

"A tankard of mead!" Gwaine cried, lifting his arms in celebration before losing his balance and falling on the floor.

"Gwaine!" Merlin jumped out of the way of the falling knight, who was now snoring contentedly at his feet.

Arthur shook his head and crossed his arms. "Nope. You're all wrong. Magic is, you see, like a dog."

"A dog?" Elyan said, skeptic, while Leon's forehead bunched in confusion.

"Arthur," Merlin started, but was cut off again.

"Yes!" the king said. "Like a dog! A dog that, though it has something of a mind of its own, especially left on its own, usually wants a master."

"Arthur."

"And when it gets a master, it is very loyal and follows its master's every command."

"Ar_thur." _

Leon nodded. "I will admit, I feel better about it when you put it like that."

Arthur's smirk widened. "And there are as many types of magic and uses for it as there are kinds and uses of a dog."

"Arthur!" Merlin crossed his arms now, his neck and the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Dogs can be used for protection, hunting, guarding, attacking, defending, warmth, companionship…even to do little tricks like a jester," Arthur continued.

"…Arthur."

"And each magic user can sort of be identified with a dog, too. Take this _Emrys _for example—"

"Ar_thur!" _

"The druids see him as a kind of…I don't know, mastiff or wolf pup or something."

Merlin ducked his head to hide the darkening blush and the frantic look growing in his eyes. "Arthur…"

"And I'm sure Emrys sees himself as some kind of spectacular hunting hound, loyal, useful, devoted, strong, handsome, dashing—"

"—Ar_thur!" _

"…Personally I think he reminds me of one of those squeaky little fluff dogs that Gwen like to stick in her sleeves in winter—"

"_ARTHUR!" _

Percival's head darted between the two of them. His eyes popped. "…It's _Merlin_, isn't it? Merlin's _Emrys." _

"Right first try!" Arthur said with a triumphant cackle while Merlin practically _shrieked _"AR_THUR!" _and in less than a minute, the king was running around the armory with his new court sorcerer running after him, yelling threats.

The knights looked at each other, only half-believing anything as ludicrous as the bescarfed young clutz currently scrambling (badly) over a suit of armor being the most powerful _anything_ in the universe. Then they shrugged. The world goes on, after all.

Except the clanging of metal had woken a still very drunk Sir Gwaine. "What'd I miss?" he shouted as greatest magic user the world would ever see tripped over his own feet and went sprawling into the knight on the floor.

What else could they do? The Knights of the Round Table doubled over and laughed.


End file.
